Topping Draco
by faithwood
Summary: Draco must face the fact that Harry's little companions hate him. Humour. HPDM. SLASH. ONESHOT.


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.  
**Title:** Topping Draco

**Author:** Faith Wood

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2200  
**Status:** Complete  
**Summary:** Draco must face the fact that Harry's little companions hate him.  
**Warning:** It's possible that both the title and the summary don't mean what you think they mean. Heh. Oh Lord, save us from bad puns!

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Topping Draco

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Harry walked into his apartment with a happy smile, trying hard to prevent himself from yelling, 'Honey, I'm home!' If only because he knew that Draco wouldn't be thrilled about being called _honey_.

Draco had moved in only recently, and the thought of that still made Harry feel giddy. Lately, they had spent all their free time together anyway, but it was a joy to know that Draco would be here to greet him when Harry arrived home. Or even if he wouldn't be here to greet him, Harry could spend some time in anticipation, knowing that Draco would definitely come _home_ to spend the night with him. Harry revelled in the knowledge that there would no longer be lonely nights during which he slept little and missed his boyfriend a lot.

Deciding to risk Draco's anger — after all, an angry Draco was as good as any other Draco — Harry opened his mouth to yell his hello. But as he inhaled, a waft of something smelly hit his nose. Frowning, Harry followed the scent — of burned food? — coming from the kitchen.

Cautiously and a little worriedly, Harry opened the kitchen door and peeked inside. It was difficult not to gasp in horror. The kitchen did not look like a kitchen anymore. It looked like a huge pile of mess. There were boxes and spilled ingredients everywhere — on the floor and the worktable, and even spread over chairs. Pots and pans were sprawled all over; some dirty, some clean, some broken. But that wasn't the odd part that drew a disbelieving gasp from Harry.

It was an amazing sight to be seen — Draco stood by the stove, looking uncharacteristically messy, with flour and other sticky looking stuff covering his clothes and hair and ... apron?

Undoubtedly hearing Harry's odd gasping sounds, Draco spun around and stared at him in horror. "You're early," he managed.

Harry nodded mutely, unable to tear his gaze from something white smudged over Draco's cheeks. "Um ..." Harry tried to make his voice work, "what are you doing?" Surely, this was some strange spell gone awry, or a random hurricane hit the apartment. It simply wasn't possible that Draco was actually _cooking_.

"Well, I ..." Draco looked mortified and very upset. "You cooked for me when I signed that contract with the Apothecary so I thought I'd return the favour. I meant to bake you a cake for successfully passing your final Auror exam. So." Draco waved his arms around, sending a spoon in his hands flying across the kitchen. It hit the window with a loud clink. Draco winced at the crashing sound that followed. "Apparently, I can't cook." Draco finished his explanation by crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his bottom lip out. "I mean, how hard can it be?" he burst out suddenly, before Harry even had a chance to melt properly after hearing what Draco had planned to do for him. "I excel at Potions! This should be no different. But instructions are so unclear. It says stir but not how many times and whether clockwise or counter clockwise. Everything is so imprecise!" Draco scowled at the battered looking cookbook lying on the counter. The old book shivered and scurried away, hiding ineffectually behind a mug.

"Draco," Harry said gently, coming closer to his distressed boyfriend, stepping on something along the way; something that crunched and wailed beneath his feet. Harry looked down and distractedly waved his wand at the crushed plate. The plate fixed itself and flew beneath the table, where many other plates found refuge and were tinkling in fright.

Harry frowned. Right. He'd soothe his boyfriend first and then take care of the traumatized kitchen objects. Harry paused next to Draco and gently placed his hands on Draco's shoulders. "Draco, it doesn't matter —"

"That's not the point. I wanted to do this, but I can't!" Draco's hand shot out suddenly to grab a round cake pan that tried to discreetly evict its brownish, bumpy content on the floor. "These dishes hate me! They all ran away from me." Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Did you charm them to hate me?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, of course not. They just get a little nervous when something gets mishandled and broken. Have you tried soothing them?"

Draco made a disbelieving face and scowled. "I don't talk to dishes," he sniffed.

"Right. Um, well, maybe we could fix something," Harry said bracingly. "What are you making?" He looked around, spotting a bowl of beaten eggs.

"I don't know," Draco mourned. "The stupid cookbook keeps hiding from me. So I was ... working by memory. I have a good memory!" he added quickly.

Harry was barely listening. The bowl of eggs kept his attention. "Um. Did you put whole eggs in there?"

"Well, yes." Draco looked over Harry's shoulder at the bowl. "I know that trick," he said proudly. "You need to separate the white bit from the yellow bit, but I remember it said no such thing in this recipe. Whole eggs could be put in here. I was supposed to use a special powder to make sure that the cake was spongy. Or a spell. Or something." Draco's voice wavered.

"Um." Harry stared at the eggshells swimming around the bowl. "Right. Whole eggs for this cake. Got you." Harry turned to look at Draco's frowning face, now mere inches away from Harry's. "Have you ever seen someone make an omelette? Or do something with eggs?"

Draco scrunched up his face. "Food usually appears on the table when I wish it. I saw you cook, I suppose, but," Draco took a moment to give Harry a lascivious grin. "I usually focus on other things then. That's your fault, of course. You cook in those muggle trousers that are slung so low I fear they might fall off." Draco's voice was accusing, but it carried a slight purr that immediately sent a jolt of arousal through Harry, even as he blushed guiltily.

After all, Harry usually put those trousers on just for Draco, because it was much too amusing to see Draco following his every move while licking his lips. Apparently, thanks to Harry's teasing, Draco had failed to learn doing something productive in the kitchen. Harry thought about that some more. Well, Draco was actually very apt at doing many skilful things in the kitchen, but nothing that had anything to do with cooking. Perhaps, that was why the dishes disliked him. Harry had never used his kitchen for such activities before.

There was a thump on Harry's left and both of them looked around to see that the pan had managed to kick the brown mass out on the worktop, and was now lying innocently in the huge pile of dishes in the sink. Harry was sure he had only imagined that the pan was whistling.

Draco looked sadly at the brown thing in front of him. "I was sure I at least made that part right."

"Well, maybe you did," Harry said encouragingly. Of course, the eggs that were supposed to be in there, clearly weren't, but, considering the eggshells, that was a small mercy. Reminding himself he was a Gryffindor, Harry took a small piece of the unappealing brown thing, and put it in his mouth. "Hmm ... yum," he said, chewing heavily.

"It's good?" Draco asked in a hopeful voice.

"Not bad at all." Harry swallowed with difficulty. "Did you put a lot of sugar in it?"

"Plenty!" Draco confirmed, taking a piece of cake, and putting it in his mouth.

Harry bit his lip. "Did you use the sugar from that _other_ jar that was labelled _salt?_"

Draco grimaced, and grabbing a paper towel, spit the salty thing out. "Those nasty little jars! I bet they switched on purpose!"

Draco sprang away and began opening the cabinets, searching for the jar of sugar. Harry rubbed his temples as the jars and boxes flew away, thrown by Draco or running for they lives. "There it is!" Draco exclaimed, finally locating a jar behind the box of cereal. The jar was trembling and sporting a large label that said _Mustard_. "Oh, you think you're funny?" Draco glared at the jar.

"Hey! This looks okay!" Harry quickly pointed at the bowl of whipped cream.

"You're just saying that," Draco said darkly, still holding the jar captive.

"No, I ..." Harry dipped his finger in the fluffy white mass and then licked it clean. "It really is good," he said honestly. "I guess you used powdered sugar for this?"

Draco looked at the jar of sugar in his hand. "Yes. And I like powdered sugar better," he informed the jar.

"It's really not that easy to make whipped cream, you know. It requires skill," Harry praised, grabbing Draco's arm and pulling him closer.

Draco reluctantly put down the jar and took a spoon to taste a bit of cream.

"It's not bad," he asserted, still looking grumpy.

Harry wrapped his hands around Draco's waist and pulled him flush against his chest. With a corner of his eye, he spied the jar, frozen where Draco had left it, but it was now sporting a label that said _Powdered Sugar_. His mouth twitching, Harry looked at his boyfriend, concluding that the white sprinkled stuff on Draco's cheeks was whipped cream. "You gave that cream a good whopping." Harry grinned.

Draco bit his lip, clearly trying not to smile. "It paid for my lousy cooking skills."

"There are other ways to conduct a celebration," Harry pointed out.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously. But I wanted to make you feel as pleased as I feel when you cook for me."

His insides positively fluttering at that proclamation, Harry leaned in even closer, nearly touching Draco's cheek with his lips. "I am very pleased right now," he murmured before sticking out his tongue to lick a bit of cream from the soft skin.

Draco groaned. "Please tell me that I don't have cream on my cheek."

"Give me a second." Harry licked and sucked, his tongue tracing Draco's jaw and his high cheekbone, greedily lapping the sweet mixture of cream and Draco flavour. Pleased with his work, noting that the skin felt heated and looked flushed, Harry kissed Draco's lips briefly and proclaimed, "There's no cream on your ... er ... right cheek."

Draco blew an annoyed breath and moved away, presumably planning to leave and have a shower, something that seemed like a horrible idea to Harry. Therefore, he grabbed Draco firmly enough to prevent him from escaping. Draco failed to struggle, grinning knowingly at Harry, and sliding his hands in the back pockets of Harry's jeans.

"Well, clean me up then," Draco demanded.

Grinning, Harry dutifully cleaned Draco's other cheek, humming at the taste and the soft feel of the skin beneath his lips. "You put some vanilla in the cream."

"You like vanilla," Draco said in a low voice, not sounding upset anymore.

"I do." Harry inhaled, breathing in the scent of his boyfriend for which he would swear reminded him of vanilla.

Draco spread his legs a little, and pressed his hips forward, making Harry's breath hitch. Draco's hips continued to move rhythmically, creating gorgeous fiction while his fingers caressed Harry arse through his jeans. Harry lowered his head to suck on Draco's neck — there was no cream there, but Harry was still tasting vanilla and sugar. Abruptly, Draco squeezed Harry's arse and jerked his hips harshly, making Harry feel less inclined to ponder the sweet taste of Draco's skin, but more inclined to throw Draco on the kitchen table and traumatize the poor dishes beyond repair.

Remembering the quivering plates under the table, Harry grabbed Draco's hips to stop him from moving. "Draco, wait."

Draco growled, biting Harry's earlobe and nipping his jaw before he captured Harry's lips in a toe-curling kiss. After a few dizzy moments, Draco moved his mouth away with a last nibble at Harry's tingling bottom lip. "You're right," he breathed. "I should shower first."

Harry clutched Draco's waist and looked at him speculatively. "Actually, you owe me a cake."

Draco frowned and looked around. "Well, I think it's safe to say that I won't cook again in the near future —"

Draco stopped talking as Harry grabbed his bicep with one hand and the bowl of whipped cream with the other. "I'll make do with what I have," Harry proclaimed, smirking. Draco opened his mouth in protest, but then quickly pressed his lips together. He stared at Harry with wide eyes and he must have found something fascinating in Harry's expression, because he shuddered, his pupils dilating and cheeks colouring.

"All right then," Draco said weakly. He put his hands behind his back to untie his red apron.

"Wait!" Harry stopped him quickly.

Draco raised his eyebrows, looking at Harry thorough a lock of blond but flour speckled hair. Harry promised himself that they'd avoid mirrors at all costs, on their way to the bedroom.

"Er ... leave the apron on." Harry bit his lip.

Draco's mouth twitched for a second, but then he nodded, looking smug. "Sure. Why, had I known, I'd greet you with whipped cream, dressed just in this apron."

Harry grinned predatorily. "Well, now you know what to do next time. But really, don't worry about whipped cream. I promise you — I don't mind taking care of the topping," Harry proclaimed happily, pulling Draco towards their bedroom.

In the upcoming days, Harry had informed all who would listen that Draco had made him a delicious cake, and the topping was so good — it was positively orgasmic.

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Fin

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